


Foreordained

by Sychronergy



Category: Original Work
Genre: Drug Use, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2018-09-16 22:03:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9291437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sychronergy/pseuds/Sychronergy
Summary: Brown-eyed Ivy League prodigy Jason Summer appears forever doomed to clean toilets and wash dishes.Golden-eyed underachiever Avery Vaughan inherits his father's company and is on the express lane to the top.In a world where your highest attainable level of success is pre-determined by the color of your eyes, their paths cross again.





	1. Mechanics of Power

My interview at Vaughan Software began at noon.

"So you graduated from Cornell - dual Masters in Computer Science and Systems Engineering?" asked Mr. Harrison. Mr. Harrison was a blue-eyed human resource manager with more hair on his face than scalp. He circled something on my resume. "Dean's List the whole time. Oh, you won the Northeast Distinguished Programming Excellence Award two years in a row?"

"Yes, Sir," I responded. I gave a confident smile, tried to maintain eye contact.

"Where do you work now?" asked Mr. Harrison. The answer was right there on my resume, but he was still reading my education background.

"I currently work at Fridays," I answered. Fridays was a local fast food chain aimed at teenagers and young children. I worked there full-time since my graduation two years ago. "But I worked in a front-facing office environment for three and a half year as part of my work study program."

"Dishwasher," said Mr. Harrison. He underlined something on my resume. "Recently promoted to dishwasher _and_ cashier."

"Yes," I answered, ignoring the little stings I felt in my chest. I continued to convey aptitude: "I received an award for exceptional customer service in the first month of my promotion - I am confident that I can excel as an assistant receptionist in Vaughan Software."

"I do think we are looking for someone like you," said Mr. Harrison. He ran his eyes down his resume, where it detailed all the volunteer work I did, all my part time positions and my school extracurricular. "Enthusiastic, friendly and patient."

Hope flared in my chest, though I didn't dare to acknowledge it.

"So, tell me about a time you had to handle a difficult client," said Mr. Harrison. He looked at my resume again and shook his head. His double chin jiggled. "I mean, customer."

Before I spoke, his phone rang. Mr. Harrison picked it up and listened for a few minutes, sitting up straighter in the process.

"He's a _Blue eye_?" Mr. Harrison's voice hitched. His own blue eyes twinkled with more excitement than he'd shown for my entire interview. "Yes. Yes. Of course. Absolutely. He can start at his convenience; Please emphasize our employee benefits and try to have the contract signed today."

After he hung up, Mr. Harrison cleared his throat and grabbed a big fat red marker. He uncapped it with a deafening click and drew a thick, diagonal slash across my resume. The piece of ivory paper was then tossed into a folder with what I presumed to be the other rejected resumes. My heart tanked.

"Jason," said Mr. Harrison. His tone was clipped, as if each word he spoke was a breath he could save. "Unfortunately, we cannot offer you the position."

"I understand," I said hollowly. I should count my blessings that I made it to the interview stage, right? I rubbed my hands together, feeling every callous of hands dried out by chemicals. I kept the smile on my face and straightened my back, but I yearned to be anyone except myself.

Mr. Harrison waved his hand in the general direction of the door and said, "Great meeting you, Jason. Elevators at the end of the hallway. Better luck next time."

As if it weren't my lips moving, I told him, "Thank you for your time, Mr. Harrison. It was a pleasure speaking with you."

I exited his office and walked down the hallway, wondering if this was the first and last time I'd ever walk in a high rise like this. The sun shone brightly through floor to ceiling glass windows, slotting in through half-drawn shades. I thought about all the academic awards I won and all the people who praised my straight As. None of what I valued at school mattered in the real world.

As I approach the end of the hallway, a familiar back-profile I hadn't seen for ages caught my eyes.

Slender, with black hair and a water-like quality to his movements.

"Hey, Avery!" I called out to the man walking down the perpendicular hallway. I was sure it was him. I tutored Avery every week for two years back in Cornell undergrad, until he scraped a passing grade in college calculus, physics and biology. We weren't friends, but I felt sorry for him.

Once I caught up to him, he turned around. I stared.

It was the first time in my life that I have ever seen golden eyes. They looked like twin suns. Flecks of amber shimmered in what appears to be pools of spun, molten gold. His skin was still as white as snow. I blurted out, "You used to have blue eyes. Back in college. Cornell undergrad?"

That was more than four years ago, but I vividly remembered his cornflower blue eyes.

Then again, everything about Avery looked different. There was a fancy leather folder in his arms and an even fancier, gold-trimmed fountain pen in his hand. He wore an upscale suit, a gray turtleneck and shoes polished to reflect every detail on the ceiling. He didn't appear to remember me, but he answered politely, "Contact lenses."

"You're...?" said Avery.

Extending my hand, I answered, "Jason Summer, at your service."

He took my offered hand, but only shook once. He stared at me for a few more seconds, appearing slightly guilty and looking as if he was probing his memory. I wanted to ask what had he been up to and what was he doing here, but the questions felt too personal.

After some silence, as if the awkwardness became too thick, he glanced at my suit and tie, then said to me, "Are you here for an interview?"

"Yeah," I repeated. I forced a smile, lowered my brown eyes away from his golden ones, and scratched the back of my neck, "Gave it a shot."

Before we made any additional attempts at awkward conversation, we both turned our heads and attention toward a loud clicking sound coming toward us. A woman with a skin-tight dress and bright red heels clicked her way down the hallway, coming to a stop in front of Avery. She had a head of curled ringlets and looked like she stepped out of a magazine.

"Mr. Vaughan. You are running late for your 3:00 meeting, Sir," said the Green-eye.

"Thank you, Miss Whittaker," said Avery.

"Wait, Vaughan?" I grabbed his arm. "Avery Vaughan? _The_ Avery Vaughan? I thought you were Avery... Smith?"

Avery Smith was a poor, blue-eyed college kid who went to Cornell on student loans, ate instant noodles every night and barely ate more than one meal a day. I remembered all the times that I, out of exasperation, brought him some home-made leftovers when I went over to tutor him. I even remembered that he couldn't afford a new pair of jeans and I "accidentally" dropped a gift card into his book bag.

How could he be the same Avery as Avery Vaughan, son of Simon Vaughan, the businessman extraordinaire and multi-billionaire?

Avery laughed, but it was one of those short, one breath laughs that meant he found no humor in the question. "My father was displeased by something I did in high school. I used my mother's maiden name for the duration of my college education."

"Wow," I said. "Good to be you, huh."

Avery smiled, a reserved and fluid small upturned of his lips. I don't know if he suddenly felt closer to me or if he finally remembered me, but his entire disposition was a lot more amiable. Avery asked, "What position are you interviewing for?"

"Just... Assistant Receptionist for the night shift," I said, laughing nervously. CEO Avery Vaughan was probably not even aware that such a position existed. I forced the ball of anger down and it settled like a ball of lava in my stomach as I conveyed, "I didn't get it. There was a better candidate, I guess."

"Oh," said Avery.

He looked down, to where my rough, chapped hands were creasing the supply, velvety material of his suit. I released my grip with a stuttered apology and he mindlessly smoothed the material out. Avery asked the Miss Whittaker, "Isn't there a vacancy to fill after Janet left?"

"Yes, Sir," Miss Whittaker responded, slanting me a dismissive glare, "But the position requires, at a minimum, a Green eye with a Bachelor's degree."

Avery said, "Is that so?"

Miss Whitaker lowered her voice, "The senior Mr. Vaughan highly endorsed Mr. White's son, Vernon White, but he is currently on vacation."

White. The White family was just as infamous and influential as the Vaughan family, but the White family was living on a past-due legacy. Old money that was rumored to become no money, if the White children didn't stop their lifestyle of outrageous parties, controversial activities and hushed lawsuits.

"He's been on vacation and has more than six countries to tour," said Avery. "I needed an Executive Assistant three weeks ago."

"Even then..." said Miss Whittaker.

Avery turned his attention back to me.

"Someone who balanced eight courses a semester and developed an award winning task management program should be able to keep my schedule straight," said Avery. He tapped his fountain pen against his leather folder. Thoughtful, rhythmic taps. The fingers that held the pen were long and smooth. He asked me, "Can you file electronic documents?"

"Yes!" I exclaimed. In immediate hindsight, I noted that you should never sound this enthusiastic because ardor hinted at desperation. I spoke professionally, "Absolutely. I can code software that pre-filter the documents, generate filenames based on content and ascribe parameters to categorize entire libraries."

"By hand is quite sufficient," said Miss Whittaker.

I said, "I know how to use a mouse and keyboard."

I saw Avery's lips twitch. So did Miss Whittaker, who adapted an expression of indifference and gestured at a digital clock with her chin. It read 3:01. Avery looked at the clock, glanced at his folder and turned to Miss Whittaker, "Please take him to the HR office and inform Mr. Hayne of my decision to hire Jason."

Miss Whittaker said, "I believe you mean Mr. Harrison, Sir."

I almost collapsed onto my knees in relief, when the full weight of Avery's words settled in. I couldn't believe that I, a Brown eye, got offered a desk job at one of the top software firms in the world. How ludicrous that I used to _feel sorry_ for Avery Smith. "Thank you, Aver - Mr. Vaughan."

"Call me Avery," said Avery. He smiled again and it was more of a real smile this time, "I never thanked you for your $25 gift card. Thanks."

He turned to walk away and I wanted to stare at his retreating back forever.

Next to me, Miss Whittaker cleared her throat and gave me a lofty, disdainful look. I didn't care. The entire building could have collapsed and I would've still felt on top of the world. Right before I turned around to follow Miss Whittaker the other direction, I called after Avery Vaughan, "You're welcome."

Walking back to Mr. Harrison's office with Miss Whittaker, I repeated to myself: I, Jason Summer, got a job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self-indulgence inspired by a midnight conversation. :)


	2. Interlude: Home

"Ma!" I sang out as I closed the door behind me. "I got a new job. Guess where?"

Before my Ma had time to turn her head from the kitchen sink, I gushed, "I am now an Executive Assistant at Vaughan Software."

"That's lovely, honey," said Ma. She frowned, glanced at the leafy vegetables in the basin and wiped her hands on a nearby towel. "What's wrong with Fridays?"

"Lad's head is bloated big from his education," came a man's gravelly voice from the living room. He pronounced education like  _Ek_ -You-Kay- _Ton_. At the sound of the man's voice, Ma perked up. She laughed when he hollered, "Ey, lad, you need help getting through the door?"

I walked into the living room, no problem. A radio that emitted more static than melody played the same songs over and over again. I recognized the words to LANCE's ' _My 21st Century Snow White_ ' as I greeted the man sprawled on a love chair, "Hi Nelson."

Nelson was my mother's boyfriend of eleven years. Each year, I watched his beer belly grow bigger and bigger despite his demanding day job of a furniture mover. Right now, there was another bottle in his hand. I answered, "There's nothing wrong with Fridays, but I feel like I'm finally doing something with my life."

"There ain't a thing wrong with life as it is, lad," said Nelson. His brown eyes twinkled with merriment when Ma walked out of the kitchen behind me and came to a stop next to him. "I getta lay eyes on the most beautiful woman in the world every day and she occasionally nice to me."

"Hush it, you," said Ma. She playfully slapped him on the arms.

I glance around, at the scruffy, scratched couches and peeling gray ceiling. Numerous piss marks and stains from leaking pipes colored the century-old wallpaper. The only reason we weren't living on the streets was because of monthly checks that Ma and I get - gilded checks signed with a flourished  _Lance Summer_.

"You can't even fathom what you're missing out on," I told Nelson.

"You go where them Blues and Greens run each other over with gold-dipped Roll Royces," said Nelson. He waved his beer bottle around and the cheap, patchy liquor sloshed around. "Slugs like us gonner be smacked dead 'fore you know what hit you, son."

"You're wrong," I said. The educational system never discriminated against eye colors and saw academically successful Browns. Browns could be more successful than Blues, if the prejudice of eye colors wasn't such a self-fulfilling prophesy. "The standard that _eye color_ should define success is archaic and has no place in this modern world of information and logic."

My words fell on deaf ears. I glared at Nelson, "I'm not your son."

 _Those_ words triggered a response. Ma gave me a warning look and then looked worriedly at Nelson, who chugged his bottle of beer. After he swallow, he belched and gave me a loopy smile. Nelson said, "Atta, lad."  


	3. Sibling Rivalry

Everyone around me had green or blue eyes. 

Feeling inadequate yet ready in a business casual attire I purchased two years ago and never wore, I walked into the lobby. Plush armchairs and chandeliers decorated the spacious first floor of Vaughan Software. Further access to the other floors was selectively prevented by card scanners mounted on turnstiles. 

When the machine denied me access, I observed a few other employees scan their ID cards and tried again. I glanced at the red X on the screen and walked over to a circular desk in the center, where a receptionist with short, spiky brown hair had just begun her shift.

"Oh!" said the green-eyed receptionist, as soon as she saw me. Her lips pursed into a surprised circle. She turned away to sneeze, gave me an apologetic smile and gaped at me some more. "You look a lot like LANCE. Do you know of him?"

I gave her a playful, mysterious grin.

"I'm a huge fan of his! I even have an autographed picture," said the receptionist. She took out a tattered leather wallet and showed me a picture of a handsome man in his early thirties. He had purple-streaked hair and deep, sea blue eyes. I pretended to admire the picture of my brother, acknowledging that our resemblance was uncanny nowadays.

 _"Look, my angel. Dreaming in the inky, inky sky, Find me with your starry, starry eyes."_ Her smile widened as I sang and I saw the beginning of crow's feet at the edge of her eyes.  _Starry, Starry Eyes_ was one of LANCE's most popular songs, right after ' _My 21st Century Snow White_ '. Ma played both on repeat all the time.

"Wow! You sound like him too!" said the receptionist. She pressed her lips to the picture and stored her wallet away in a faded blazer. "I love LANCE; he's _so_ romantic. Did you hear about his new album _La_ _Vena Amoris_?"

I nodded with neither agreement nor excitement. Lance liked to sing about his devotion to a high school sweetheart - a girl with skin like snow, eyes like stars and hair like the night sky. Men like me were rarely interested in his romanticized spiel, but nine of his twenty eight songs topped the Hot 100.

After another dreamy sigh, the receptionist greeted, chirpily, "My name is Rosie, how can I help you today?"

"I work here," I said. I held out my employee ID. "Is something wrong with my ID? I can't get in."

Rosie took the plastic card from me and placed it on a card-reader next to her computer. The machine beeped and a bright X flashed. I waited as Rosie turned away from me and began to type on her keyboard. A blue-eyed visitor signing into the building stared at me, rolled his eyes and spat on my face, " _Slug_."

I looked away. Discretely, I took a tissue from the receptionist desk and wiped the spittle away. After the man sauntered away, Rosie handed my card back to me and said, "Mr. Harrison didn't activate your card. You're not in our system."

"I was told to come to work today," I said to her. I dug through my bag, until my fingers closed around a piece of paper. "Here is my offer of employment."

"I believe you, but Mr. Harrison is the only one who can activate employee IDs," said Rosie. She didn't attempt to verify my words and she appeared to be genuinely concerned. "There's nothing we can do until he arrives."

A grievous weight swelled in my chest. I was going to be late for my retina scan and miss my employee orientation. I knew the answer wouldn't matter, but I asked, "When will he arrive?"

* * *

Mr. Harrison came in at eleven and immediately had a conference call to address. By the time I reached the cubicle I was assigned, in an open space in front of Avery's office, it was ten minutes to noon. My laptop was already set up, but I did not know my login credentials and had to dial the IT office, where a drawl with a British accent told me that my password was _GTFO_SLUG_.

While I familiarized myself with the programs and accustomed myself to using a computer again, someone walked up to my desk.

A green-eyed man with greasy black hair, lanky limbs and a permanent scowl. I recognized Adrian Vaughan from all the times he appeared in the newspapers in Avery's stead. He carried a porcelain mug in his hand. Adrian fumbled around with a manila folder, trying to straighten up the two inch stack of paper while balancing his mug, "Are you the new Executive Assistant? Please give this to Avery for me."

When he looked up from the manila folder, his porcelain mug crashed to the ground. The rich aroma of coffee seeped into the air and a dark brown stain spread on the white carpet beneath us, coming to a stop a few inches away from my new shoes. I watched the steam curl into the air. Adrian, still staring at me, said "Oops."

I glanced at a directory thumb tacked on my bulletin board for the janitor's extension, but Adrian's fingers closed around my wrist before I picked up the phone.

"Shouldn't you lick that up," said Adrian. When my eyebrows shot up, he added with a patronizing sneer, "Isn't that what slugs do with food on the ground?"

"Pardon me," I said. My voice was thick when I moved to stand from my chair. A nauseating feeling roiled my stomach and my throat felt hot. I yanked my hand out of his grasp. "I think we have some paper towel in the break room."

"No, you damn slug," said Adrian. "I asked you to lick that up."

I stared at the brown stain.

Aware that Adrian could take away my job as easily as Avery gave it, I imagined sliding on my knees to run my tongue against the rough fibers of the carpet. Unsanitary, but probably not as complicated as it sounded. The _real_ question was, would Adrian deem me a paltry scourge unworthy of further attention or a new channel for his sadism?

My knees jerked ever so slightly.

Down the hallway, the elevator _dinged_ and opened up to reveal Avery. I watched Avery wafted toward us, appearing untouchable and immortal. The fluorescent light softened the sharp disparity between his pale skin and dark hair, sort of blending his overall appearance into something less ethereal and more human.

"Adrian," said Avery. He stopped a few feet away and sounded like he already knew what was going on, "What is going on?"

"I can't believe you allowed a _slug_ to work on the top floor," said Adrian. His beady green eyes were solely fixated on Avery now, "Did you actually look over the proposal and infrastructure of our new data mining software before you approved of releasing it?"

Avery, after a long blink and gentle slant of his head, said, "I trust your expertise."

"You should at least bless my team's effort with your attention," said Adrian. He shoved the manila folder at Avery, pushing it on top of the folder Avery held in his hand. Avery bucked slightly, then steadied himself. "I even printed a paper copy for you, since you know, _you don't know how to navigate System_."

Now that his hands were free, Adrian grabbed a tissue from a newly opened box on my desk and wiped the hand he touched me with. I watched Avery flip to the randomly chosen page in the stack of paper. A vertical crease formed between Avery's eyebrows, "You know I don't know how to read codes and-"

Adrian wrung his hands and interrupted Avery's words.

"Please, baby brother. You can't possibly expect me to stand here and listen to a list of all the things you don't know how to do," said Adrian. After he lowered his hands, he tossed the crumbled up tissue on my lap and wrinkled his nose at Avery, "You're completely useless."

Avery's flush faded quickly, but I caught the faint pink. A slow smile spread across Adrian's lips and his voice dropped into a taunting coax. I tasted bile as Adrian said, "If you say _'I'm completely useless'_ three times, I'll relieve you of your duty to audit the codes."

"Adrian," said Avery. "Don't do this here."

The two brothers stared at each other. Avery's face revealed no expressions, but his fingers viciously twisted a silver ring he wore on his ring finger. Instinctively, I wanted to reach out to Avery but instincts and concern felt reprehensible in the extant verbal spar. Coolly, Avery said, "I'll approve of your girlfriend's upcoming ski trip as a company expense."

Adrian's eyes gleamed. Vaguely, I understood the exchange to be a sequence of blackmail and bribery, but my presence felt to be as insignificant the stain of brown on the carpet. Ice wrapped around the pit of my stomach. I wondered how Avery tolerated a man like that every day.

"Good boy," breathed Adrian.

He turned away and I noticed that he walked with a broken gait. Each footfall was a sloppy and perpendicular flop. There was a prominent buck every time his right foot touched the ground. His torso pitched forward and pulled back with every step. My eyes flickered to Avery, who watched Adrian limp away with - guilt?

After Adrian was out of sight, Avery turned to me.

"Don't mind Adrian," said Avery. His voice was soft, as if it would break if he spoke any louder. "He's just bitter about everything. He worked in the company for more than sixteen years, but father signed the company over to me."

I smiled at Avery's words, catching the sincere look in his golden eyes. I'd done worse for an income. I gingerly picked up the tissue on my lap and tossed it into a nearby trashcan. "I'm more upset about how he treats you."

"I'm used to it," said Avery. He tried to smile, but the expression wavered into nothing. "I always have to beg Adrian for help."

When I reached out for the manila folder, Avery handed it to me with a faraway look in his eyes. I turned to the page that made Avery sulk and grinned. Computer language felt easier than any human language. In each the two dozen languages I already mastered, the logic made more sense than common sense.

"Not this time," I told Avery.

Adrian only printed codes on paper to mock Avery, but I could surmise what the program in the folder was written to do. I knew how to expand the functions and streamline the syntax. There were potential bugs and my mind offered improvements. I felt a rush of fierce emotion rise in my chest. A competitive edge that I hadn't felt since I left school. "You have the twice-winner of the NDPE award on your side, don't you?"

"Hm?" said Avery. A warm feeling fluttered in my chest when I realized that I could prove my worth to a man who redefined my life. Avery's relieved smile was mesmerizing and the silver ring glimmered when he briefly rested his hand on my bicep, "Yeah, I have you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LANCE's new album, La Vena Amoris, translates to vein of love, the factually inaccurate basis from which the symbolism of ring fingers stemmed.
> 
> 2.7.17: Going to finalize the chapter structures. The interlude named "Phone Call" _is_ canon-compliant but I removed it because it's essentially fluff.


	4. Platinum Egoiste

I worked until nine on my first day. Using Avery's credentials, I audited the project corresponding to the codes Adrian left and began coding a program to filter all the files I was supposed to scan, summarize and delegate. My regular duties revolved around Avery's schedule and most were mundane, like drafting emails or setting up restaurant reservations.

To my surprise, Rosie was still there when I descended to the empty lobby. She waved at me when I stepped out of the elevator and I walked up to the desk. Her short hair was no longer as spiky, but her smile was lively. She now wore lipstick, a purple shade that resembled wine.

She asked, "How was your first day?"

I answered without thinking, "Tiring. I feel like people are out to get me."

Rosie's smile turned sympathetic as she began to pack her things, "Most people value their jobs too much to start a personal campaign against you."

Rosie's optimism did not surprise me. Her green eyes meant she never saw the same level of prejudice and she likely grew up in an average middle class family. Mildly, I explained, "Mr. Harrison dismissed my credentials for a blue-eyed candidate he didn't interview yesterday."

"Mr. Harrison has early-onset Alzheimer's and a child with autism," said Rosie. She snapped her purse shut and swung the red leather pouch behind her shoulder. Then she reached for her scarf, a yellow and bunched wool accessory with pink kittens. "His supervisor gives him a bonus when he recruits blue-eyed candidates."

The words felt like a physical lump I swallowed. I never considered that Mr. Harrison might be a man with daily stresses and complex motivations. Perhaps each of his emotion were as vivid as the confusion that now clouded my mind? I tried again, "Adrian Vaughan was petty and cruel."

"Did you notice Adrian's limp?" asked Rosie. "He crushed his leg saving his little brother from a drunk driver."

"Avery?" My astonishment was evident. A frown flickered across Rosie's face but I thought my tired eyes were playing tricks on me. I shook my head and gave Rosie a wry smile, "What about you, Rosie?"

"My son is around your age and I have a black belt in karate," said Rosie. She finished wrapping her scarf around her neck and gestured for me to leave the building with her. When I was too surprised to immediately join her, Rosie laughed, "Welcome to the corporate world, Jason."

* * *

The first thing I learned about the corporate world was to bite my tongue and let time be my solution. When the Accounting Department delayed a report I requested by pretending they didn't " _understand slug vernacular_ ", I only had to wait until Avery called the department himself. I observed that Avery rarely stayed in his office for more than an hour, and mostly returned to pick up different documents for different meetings.

I worked hard, learned when to use Avery's name and subsisted the two weeks to my first paycheck.

I always left the company minutes before the building shut down and I did the same today. Ma and I lived in a rundown, seedy neighborhood with more thugs than cockroaches, but familiarity mitigated apprehension. Since this was the only place we could afford, we lived here for more than twenty years. Two blocks away from home, three men stepped out and formed a triangle around me.

"Boss is looking for you," said the man. He had one green eye and one brown eye. 

I could count on one hand the number of times I saw Boss' favorite thug in person but I recognized the biceps that were about the size of my head. Once Lock situated himself squarely in front of me, he crossed his arms. The alleyway he emerged from reeked of stale water, sewage and garbage, but he wouldn't have been able to smell anything with his mangled nose. A box cutter glinted in his hand. "You missed three calls last week."

"I'm done with being a vessel," I said. Vessel was an upgrade from Runner, a stint I committed to for a year because Fridays frequently neglected to issue my paycheck. Something about the current situation didn't make sense to me, but I was unable to pin down the thought amidst the rush of adrenaline. "I will be able to afford my price of freedom in four months."

"Boss said you can't quit," said Lock. He licked the blade of his box cutter.

Rick, an African American who disliked me after his wife left him for a woman I introduced her to, spat out a wad of tobacco next to my shoes. His grin was too large for his raisin-like face. He jeered, brandishing a five inch blade, "Champ has a job in the world of Blues and Greens now."

"You can change your mind if you do it now," said Lock.

I shook my head.

"Traitor," said Lock. I observed the lines of his body, gauging how he planned to launch his attack. His box cutter was aimed to take out one of my eyes and his stance told me he was about to do that. Lock sprung as he spoke, "Do you remember what we do with traitors?"

Instinct took over.

After four precise exchanges, I disarmed him and slammed the heel of my right palm against his nose. Hard enough to bruise, but not hard enough to break the cartilage. The box cutter fell to the ground and I kicked it away. Lock sneered and wiped away the blood that trickled onto his lips. Rick and the other man took a step back when I looked at them.

Then, Lock reached down, grabbed a metal rod and smashed the blunt end into Rick's head.

* * *

A loud whistle echoed.

Four uniformed men flocked into the area and surrounded me. Someone shone a bright flashlight into my eyes. A muscular officer twisted my arms behind me and cold metal bit into my wrist. I realized my hands were being restraint in handcuffs as one of the men yanked my briefcase away and Lock threw the metal rod next to my feet.

"Roger," said Lock.

An officer with a broad forehead and lazy green eyes returned his curt nod. My eyes stung from the light. Blood poured freely from the gash on Rick's head and splattered onto the ground, but he remained upright, grinning. He'd been informed. The overpowering metallic scent would've made me sick, if I wasn't so used to it.

"I have the right to speak to a lawyer," I said.

"Who'd give a shit about a slug headed to their natural habitat," said Roger. He grimaced when his sleeve brushed against the brick wall, taking away a smear of dust and filth. The man digging through my briefcase pocketed my cash and Roger rattled, "Assault with Deadly Weapon and Aggravated Battery."

"It was self-defense and my fingerprint isn't on that metal rod," I said.

The air was chilly, but many beads of sweat continued to form and run down Roger's face. The man wiped away his sweat with a handkerchief and looked me in the eyes, "Class B violent felony, no bail. What's your name?"

"His name is Jason Summer," said the man with my briefcase. An edge of uncertainty stalled his pillage and he handed Roger my employee ID, "Hey, look at this."

"Vaughan Software?" Roger's eyebrow creased into one thick line across the expanse of his forehead. He shimmied my ID a few times and squinted at it. He shone a flashlight on it and then rubbed his eyes before peering at the card again. "Executive Assistant? He _is_ a slug, right?"

"Yeah," said the other guy. He looked pale. "But the Vaughan family. "

"The Vaughan family," Roger grunted. He glared at Lock, "You didn't tell me this was one of Vaughan's dogs."

* * *

Avery wore contact lenses when he visited the police station.

He came to my holding cell with a blue-eyed man who stayed a respectful two steps behind him. Avery wore a stylish, gray wrap jacket that would've looked ordinary on a runway. Or if he was a woman, one of those trophy wives on shows that Ma liked to watch. While the man behind him opened the cell door, Avery smiled at me and said, "Hi Jason. They cleared you of all charges."

The man behind Avery intoned, "We apologize for the misunderstanding, Mr. Summer."

His tone of voice would've suited an insult, the look in his eyes was sharp enough to draw blood and he picked his nose with a pinky as he addressed me. I was still elated. When the cell door opened, I resisted an urge to reach out and feel if Avery was real. I said, "It's fine. How come you're here, Avery?"

I was about to comment on the distance he must've traveled and the current time, but I held my words for the sake of observation when Avery didn't answer and the other man gaped at me. We began to make our way out. A connected strip of fluorescent light in the center of the ceiling was all the light in the hallway. The man trailed behind Avery, but he glared at me when I tried to walk next to him.

The man handed Avery a sealed envelope when we approached the exit. Avery took the envelope and said, "Thank you, Chief White."

My heart leaped to my throat. I sneaked another peak at the grim looking man. The edge of a tattoo was visible above the collar of his dress shirt and he waited patiently for what turned out to be nothing. After the stretch of silence, Chief White said, "Everything is in there, Mr. Vaughan. If you need anything else, just have an assistant call me."

"This is all I need," said Avery. The corner of his lips curled upward, amicably, but his blue eyes were as conspicuous as a slab of marble. Chief White held the door for Avery and tried to slam the door in my face. My hands caught the frame. He pushed, but I was stronger. Chief White glared at me and his eyes, with a trace of calculation, flickered to Avery.

"Daniel, I will not speak a word to your wife if you do not speak a word of this to my father." The coolness in Avery's voice nearly distracted me from his words' implication. I turned to him in time to catch a look I'd never seen before - a glacial combination of lowered lashes and fixed gaze. In the same detached tone, Avery said, "Please handle Jason's situation. We look forward to the White family's anniversary gala."

Once we were out of the station, I asked, "Confidential material?"

"In a way," said Avery. Avery's slender fingers brushed against the wax seal of the envelope. He tucked the entire envelop into a surprisingly large pocket of his jacket. "I want to help Adrian, but I don't know how to."

Adrian had not been kind to me in the last two weeks and I still remembered how the man asked me to lick the carpet. _Say 'I'm completely useless' three times_ , he'd told Avery. An inflection of distaste warped my voice, "Adrian?"

"He's my brother, Jason," said Avery. He spoke in a way that invited no further inquiries.

Avery did not tell me where he was headed, but we were walking in the direction of my house. A few people turned their head when we passed. I didn't know if they were startled to see a Brown eye walking with to a Blue eye or if Avery's fairness caught their attention, but most people looked twice. I watched Avery from the corner of my eyes, fascinated by the languidness in his gait.

Here in the heart of the city, the streets buzzed with activity. A cyan Mercedes screeched into a halt as a rash biker darted into its path and slam the bike's wheel against the car's bumper. The driver rolled down his window and bellowed profanity at the biker, who insulted back with twice the crudeness. The line of cars behind the cyan Mercedes began to honk.

Avery's reaction was instant. He held himself completely still and grabbed my hand. Stunned, I only stood there. The sleeve of his jacket brushed against the back of my hand. Cashmere and a lot thicker than I'd thought. Avery trembled each time another horn sounded and his grip turned painful. His other hand crumpled the waistline of his jacket and I thought he might've collapsed if the cacophony didn't subside.

Once the noise died down, Avery jerked away from me.

My eyes caught the moment his expression changed. It was endearing, the amateurism reflected as he tried to think of words to undo what he just did. The tips of his ears were red. If his lips weren't pressing into such an adorable grimace, I would've brushed off his actions and ended the moment.

I said, "This look suits you."

Something flickered beneath the poised, polished surface of Avery Vaughan. Avery began to fiddle around with his ring, twisting it and pulling it to his joint before pressing it back down. I remembered that he wore the same ring back in undergrad, but the tarnished silver band, something that looked like a teenager's love token, no longer suited his picturesque style.

Avery said, "I thought you were someone else."

"My driver will pick me up here," Avery continued without break. Red from his ear began to dust his cheek with a faint pink and he took a backward step away from me. I lifted an eyebrow, but he elegantly sidestepped the pole he was able to walk into. "Be careful, Jason. You have more enemies than you think. I will see you at work tomorrow."

Tomorrow was Saturday. I smiled, "See you next Monday, Avery."

* * *

The lights were still on.

Ma's jacket, a tattered once-red coat hung on a falling iron hook near the door. The fabric was chilly under my palm, a sign of recent use. I shrugged off my own jacket with a vague, lingering impression of Avery's hand tightening on mine. The radio intoned another one of Lance's songs - _Ode_ \- in which he playfully begged his sweetheart for forgiveness against a cadence of jovial dance music.

I drew in a breath to calm myself, walked into the living room, and said, "You're gambling again."

"Jason, honey," said Ma. Her green eyes had a febrile look in them, the dregs of a gambling high. Powder caked the lines on her face and she'd dyed her mostly white hair a cheap brown. "Just a few friendly rounds of blackjack with Susan. She always waives my debt when the amount gets out of hand."

Susan was a professional gambler who wrapped her vicious, man-killing loan shark of a husband around her pinky for twenty years. I heard that she killed an infant son when she caught her husband with a mistress. I asked, "How much did you lose tonight?"

"Not much," said Ma. She rubbed her eyes. A cockroach about the size of my thumb crawled into her lap, spindly legs tapping on her dress. The once-pink laces of the dress were now gray. This was Ma's best dress."Maybe it's a good thing you got a new job. How's the pay?"

"You gambled away the money I gave you for rent," I said. Something prickled behind my eyes, threatened to spill out. I remembered how, twenty three years ago, I thought it was cool and funny that men came to throw paint over our door, break tables and spray piss on the walls. Each time, Pa would tell me, _it's a game, Jas. Just like how they do it in the movies. Come, let's go to a theater._

With practiced equanimity, I continued to speak, "Ma, I thought you quit."

"The voices came back!" Ma giggled.  _"The boy angel stood under the street lamps, beckoning me with eyes like Theia's Citrines..."_

Unwilling to listen to yet another re-edition of how she saw a reaper devour an angel and how she then slew the reaper in vengeance, I instead focused on Lance's _Ode_. I knew she was talking about a car accident twelve years ago, but I assumed the whole incident was imaginary because I never saw anything on the news and no one pressed charges. I said, "Do you remember Pa, Ma? Or brother?"

Ten years ago, Pa stopped fighting against cancer when he realized how much Ma lied to him about gambling and Nelson. Around the same time, Lance ran away after giving us fifty thousand. I never found out who Lance stole the money from, but I imagined a loan shark sharpening his knife while calculating interest.

With nothing else to say, I retreated to my room while Ma began to talk about winning, luck and fate. She was usually in her right mind when Nelson was here, but Nelson never came over on Fridays. Once my door slammed behind me, I heard Ma shriek, _"Jason, there's a cockroach on my dress."_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this chapter will be edited into the previous chapter after this week. I do have the pacing down now, so there shan't be any more overhauls.


	5. What Goes Around

"I already told your gang," I told the dark figure on my bed as I flipped the light switch. The four-years old light bulb flickered several times before flooding with room with a dull yellow light. "I'm done being a vessel. I'm coming clean. Boss."

"There's a new drug in the market," said Landon. He made a vague gesture toward an open package of cigarettes and a few cans of beers on my bedside drawer."It's called X-tasy. Short for X-rated fantasy. Date-rape drug of the highest caliber. Everybody wants some."

"I'll be able to afford my price of freedom in four months," I said. On my way to the coat hanger, I kicked a rat's corpse into the corner and made a mental note to do a thorough clean-up tomorrow. Before Landon could respond, I asked, "How's Rick?"

The "brotherhood" between Rick and I long faded into nothing, but I will never forget that Rick once did things for me. Things that nobody else would consider doing for a "slug." When Landon didn't answer, I pressed on, "Lock bashed his head in and told the cops I did it. Must've convinced Rick to go with the act beforehand."

Dumb as hell, but Rick was sometimes dumber than hell.

"I didn't ask them to go after you," said Landon. He lifted an opened can of beer to his mouth and the muscles of his neck stretched when he swallowed a large mouthful. I easily shoved aside the brief idea of walking over and nuzzling his neck. "Would you believe me if I told you that?"

There was a speck of foam on Landon's lip and my gaze briefly lingered before I turned away. "No."

"Here," said Landon. He unlocked his phone and held the device in front of my face. The screen showed a picture of a dead body with a single gunshot wound on the forehead of his raisin-like face. The next picture depicted Lock, killed in a similar fashion. Point blank shots, judging by the messy splatter of blood and brain.

Landon placed his hand on my chest. "I hope you're not hurt."

Swallowing down the nasty, sour _whatever_ that rose to the back of my throat, I shrugged his hand off and walked over to the pack of opened cigarettes. My heartbeat and breath trembled, but my hands were thankfully steady as I pulled one out and reached for the lighter. I quitted smoking several months ago, but that no longer concerned me.

"Don't smoke," said Landon. I didn't hear him walk over, but his hand was already on mine, tickling the tip of his thumb down the center of my palm as he tugged the cigarette from my fingers. His voice was too close for comfort. "I hate second-handed smoke."

After I pulled my hand away, I took a seat at the corner of the room, on a chair next to the dead rat and the furthest I can get from him. Landon lit up the cigarette he just took from me. As the smoke filled up my windowless bedroom, I waved my hand in front of my nose and rolled my eyes. "Cunt."

Landon smiled. Wistfully. "Wish I was still your cunt, love."

"Go home, Landon."

"Beer?" Landon tossed me a can. I opened the aluminum can and drank everything in one shot. The beer was smooth and aromatic, unlike the piss-swill that Nelson loved bringing over. While tossing me another can, Landon said, "So, you're done with being a vessel, huh?"  

Despite my reluctance, a casual exchange began and I told Landon about my first two weeks at Vaughan Software. We laughed at how I had to rush around to buy enough clothes for a week and somewhere in the middle, Landon tossed me another beer.

The conversation flowed smoothly, almost boringly, until Landon interrupted, "Avery Vaughan didn't make you his assistant because you were kind to him in college. Adrian Vaughan doesn't hate you because you have brown eyes."

Lance's voice, from ma's radio in the living room, filled the ensuing silence, crooning lyrics about breathless, stolen kisses in a janitor's closet. Mindlessly, I recognized the lyrics to "Sweet Beckoning", another song about Lance's teenage sweetheart. I must've looked extremely confused, because Landon scoffed. "So, ma still plays your brother's songs on repeat all the damn time, huh?"

I prompted, "Avery Vaughan made me his assistant because..?"

Landon closed his eyes. "Must suck living in your brother's shadow all the time."

I pressed my lips together and glared at Landon.

"You ever wondered who Lance is so crazy about?" asked Landon. His blue eyes were bright and full of mischief. His tone was casual. Conversational. If Landon was still my best friend, I would've given him some hot-headed insult about his interest in Lance's crush and celebrity gossip. "Or who Lance stole that fifty thousand dollars from?"

Knowing that Landon was too much of a bastard to ever follow up with a topic once he caught your attention, I only said, "No. Not my business."

"Don't fall in love with Avery again. You can't afford to be in love with him."

I wanted to refute the accusation of again, wanted to clarify that Avery and I were barely even friends back at Cornell Undergrad, but I was suddenly exhausted. Physically and mentally. The day washed over me like a tidal wave. "Go home, Landon. Your wife's waiting for you."

"You didn't use to have a problem with that," said Landon. "Do you ever miss us?"

I said, "Not a single thought about you crossed my mind in the last two weeks."

Landon murmured, "I miss having you inside me."

 _A man must have principles._ Pa taught me that. Glaring at Landon, I finished my third beer and tossed the crushed can into the trashcan. "Get use to the feeling."

The look in Landon's eyes was weird. A blend of anticipation and anxiety. I stood up to open the door for him and shove him out of my space, but the world swayed and I almost fell on my ass. Steadying myself against the arm of the chair, I realize that my body was unnaturally warm. Aroused.

I spat out, "What the fuck did you put in those beers?"

"Relax, Jason," said Landon. He was suddenly right in front of me, reaching for the collar of my shirt. His hand burned against my skin.

"Stop," I said. I shoved him away and took a few steps back, until my back found the wall. Through the paper-thin walls, Lance's song about a promise and a ring roared into my ear. Instinctively, my mind supplied the name of the song - "The Ring Finger Remembers." I snarled, "Don't touch me."

When Landon didn't listen, I picked up the nearest thing and threw the alarm clock at his feet. Seeing that the crash didn't faze him at all, I snatched a picture frame off the wall and hurled the heavy iron frame directly at his face. He caught and gently placed the frame on the ground. There was a flash of genuine hurt on his face.

"Stop," I repeated. My vision blurred. The room swam around me and for some reason, Landon's brown hair looked black and his brown eyes turned golden. I squeeze my eyes shut and hoped that Landon would, for once, listen to me. "Get the fuck out of my house, Landon. Please."

Then I heard Avery's voice, "You're so cruel, Jason."

"Avery?" My eyes snapped opened. My vision was still swimming, but I recognized Avery's fair skin and black hair. Shit didn't make any sense, but my heart dropped into my stomach and my heartbeat sped up. A sense of peace and belonging washed over me. Avery looked so beautiful. "What are you doing in my house? How-"

His lips silenced my questions. Lost in the sensual caresses of his lips and the hard smoothness of his body, I pulled him closer and slipped my fingers into his hair. Shorter than I remember. I'd ran my fingers through his hair once. When he was dead asleep after pulling three all-nighters to cram for a final and I tucked him into bed.

The fact that nothing made sense was less important than the fact that Avery was so warm and real against my body.

"Relax, Jason," said Avery.

Unsure of why I was so familiar with his body, I simply allowed my hands to roam as he licked my lips and kissed my neck.

"I miss having you inside me," said Avery.

His words coaxed a primal instinct to claim and love from me, a powerful rush of feelings that overrode my unconvinced mind. " _Avery_."

Reversing our positions, I slammed him against the wall and pinned one of his hands behind his neck. I'd always liked being rough in bed, liked to push my partner's limits, but there was something about Avery that made me _want_ more than usual. Years of repressed desire, probably. I wrenched his other hand away from my shirt and pressed his palm against the bulge in my pant. "You want this?"

"No," said Avery, and the soft, breathless word was the hottest thing I ever heard. He weakly tried to push me away. How could I've known that Avery was such a coy, little vixen? He whimpered when I trapped his hand between our hips and forced his hand down the entire length of my hardened cock. "You're too big. You won't fit inside me."

So fucking hot.

"How would you know? You're such a dirty little liar, Avery." I shoved my tongue into his mouth, and bit his lips to still the little tremors as he tried again and again to turn his head away. At one point, I wanted to slap him across the face for being so _twitchy_ , but I refrained. He smelled good. Different than usual, but good. At the first taste of blood, my mind regained a shred of control against the mindless, raw heat burning up my body.

_"What the…"_

 I think those words came from my mouth, but everything sounded gurgled and inhuman. Avery pushed me until the back of my knees curled over the edge of my bed and I tumbled over. All other thoughts flew out of my mind. I rolled over him and my hands began to feel for seams and buttons. When the pieces of fabric refused to cooperate, I yanked until they gave away.

Dressed in nothing more than strips of fabric, Avery grabbed my wrists and said, "Tell me what you want."

"I want-" I began. _Avery_. I wanted to slam into him until he pass out, wanted to continue fucking his limp body until I filled both his body and his dreams. I ached to hear all the beautiful, delightful sounds he could make while I left my marks all over his pale, sweaty skin. Not in the mood to be eloquent, I simply growled his name and resumed biting his neck.

"I know you want me, love," said Avery. He sounded defeated. "Does he have any idea that you have it so bad for him? Did _you_ know?"

I had no idea when he removed my clothes or when he retrieved a tube of lubricant, but his slick hand found my cock and he began slathering the cold, slimy substance. Avery was made for me. That's why my lips knew every inch of his body, knew every curve and every dip. I was a possessed man and the only thing I knew was _Avery_ , the pale angel spreading his legs in front of me.

In the background, LANCE's voice increased in volume: _Look, my angel. Dreaming in the inky, inky sky, Find me with your starry, starry eyes._

 _My_ angel said, "Don't prepare me. I want to feel you inside me forever."


	6. Interlude: Week 555

_A,_

_Week five hundred fifty five. Another week. Another letter you won't respond to._

_The company wrote a new song for me again. For the Nth time, I nailed every pitch, but they gave the song to someone else because my cover simply "lacked something." I jokingly answered that I just can't sing anything unless the song is written by myself, for my special angel. The media and fans devoured the story._

_I think they set me up with those meaningless songs on purpose. I wonder if they would still be so amused if they knew that I was just telling the truth? You were so angry when you said "There's no cure for whatever the hell is wrong with [me]." But I think there is. All I need is a dose of you. Wistful thinking, huh? Hope's what keeps us alive, baby._

_I'm flying back next week for a concert. Five thousand tickets and they sold out before they were put on sale. I enclosed the first ticket for you. (Can you believe that the intern tried to charge me a four digits "pre-book" fee when I went to pick up the ticket? MY concert, damn it. You might've laughed at his face when he realize who he was arguing with!)_

_I know you won't come, but I'll always save the first seat for you. Always._

_Love,_

_L_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So rusty with pen and words!
> 
> If it's not clear enough - no, that's not actually Avery in the last chapter. I know my writing leans toward subtle and not-straightforward, so lemme know if anything went through the cracks? 
> 
> See you all soon!


	7. Ivory Polish

"Sorry about last night," I blurted out as soon as I saw the real Avery Vaughan.  He sat, reclined, in the backseat of a luxury sedan, with a fountain pen in one hand and a gilded folder in his other. Miss Whittaker, who was in the driver's seat, rolled her eyes when she saw me. Then she pressed a bright pink nail against a button and the car's door slid up.

As I took a seat next to Avery on the blood-red leather seats, I finished my apology, "For all that trouble and… stuff."

"There was no trouble," said Avery. He gestured for Miss Whittaker to start driving and closed his folder. "Or stuff."

"Sorry about calling you out on a Saturday," Avery continued. Heat rose to my cheek when Avery smiled at me and I immediately looked away. Landon was thankfully gone by the time I woke up, leaving a cooked breakfast and a rose, but the impressions and memories couldn't disappear as quickly.

 _Focus on what was rational_. Landon had no means of telling Avery even if he had to balls to. Though I can't change the fact that I lusted after Avery since I began tutoring him, I never said anything to him or pressured him in any way. If anything, I was mostly furious and uncomfortable that I was forced to acknowledge the truth.  

After rolling up the tinted glass that separated the car's back seats from the front and the windows, Avery asked, "Jason, are you alright?"

"Yeah," I said. When my attempt to smile failed, I disguised the lip movement with a cough and cleared my throat to buy myself some time. Once my mind unclouded to a reasonable extent, I dismissed the first four conversation topics that crossed my mind, and asked Avery, "Do you have any idea who sent those thugs after me?"

Whether Landon - _Boss_ \- sent Lock after me or not, Boss wouldn't have killed his own henchmen or lied about ordering an assault on me. There had to be a higher power involved. Without any change in his expression, Avery said, "Adrian only wanted to scare you. I apologize on his behalf."

 _Adrian_?

Sending members of my own syndicate after me meant Adrian was aware of my allegiances and dealings on the streets. A failsafe way to ensure that I will no longer have any friends, but Adrian had no reason to kill Lock and Rick, right? "Who killed them?"

"Chief White is a man with a predilection for permanent solutions."

My fingers clawed into the leather seats, noting that the crimson leather was literally as smooth and soft as cream. I took a deep breath. At the steps of the police station, Avery had said, _"Please handle Jason's situation."_ The four innocent and congenial words, spoken with the edge of a smile, had been a death sentence.

I'd innocently thought…

Avery said, "Your new position makes you the target of all sorts of hate crimes, but Vaughan Software will stand behind its decision to hire and train you."

"Your decision to hire and train me," I said quietly.

Most of Vaughan Software's employees regard me with disdain, but why did Adrian hate me so damn much? Why did Avery insist on hiring and keeping me when people with less enemies and superior eye colors were lining up to lick his shoes? "You knew you were condemning them to death when you asked Chief White to _handle my situation_?"

The look of confusion in Avery's eyes was genuine.

Realization dawned: Avery Vaughan didn't understand why I cared because, for someone as rich and powerful as him, thorns naturally get pruned. Lock and Rick had been reputable bullies with a long-lived legacy, but their lives and deaths were simply not worth the attention or time of Avery Vaughan.

So where did that leave me?

"Don't be scared of me, Jason," said Avery. His fingers were cool against the back of my hand and his touch was brief. I wonder how many people had Avery killed, how many _situations_ he'd ordered men beneath him to _handle_. Seeing the dents my fingernails made, I released my grip. Avery said, "You really do look terrible."

"Thanks."

One side of his lips quirked upward. I would've described the smile as adorable, if I wasn't doing everything I could to keep my stomach from doing violent flips or my hands from trembling. Avery began fiddling with the silver ring around his ring finger. " Your neighborhood is nasty and dangerous. Why don't you move into the Whiteshire Building?"

My eyes widened. _The Whiteshire Building_? I opened my mouth, closed it, licked my lips and opened my mouth again. The Whiteshire Building was a 140-units luxury loft building that housed celebrities and social elites. "Isn't that where you live?"

"Vaughan Incorporated owns the building," said Avery. "I sometimes stay in the penthouse. Several of our senior employees, including Mr. Harrison, live there and a few condo units are empty right now. We can subsidize a portion of the rent for you and withheld the rest, pre-tax."

"I'm not sure," I said. The Vaughan family was powerful, but how much can Avery Vaughan really protect me? Being hired for a job I over-qualify for was one thing, but moving into a housing unit with an unspoken for blue eyes or above rule? More importantly, "What do you want from me, Avery Vaughan?"

Without hesitation, Avery answered, "I need someone I can trust to rewrite the System's security protocols and recode certain junctions."

"You want someone you can completely control," I said. For a brown-eye man to stand in the world of blue and greens, I would need every filament of protection and favor I could get from Avery Vaughan. Knowing that Adrian currently oversaw all of System's operation and security, I asked, "You don't believe in your brother?"

"I don't trust the rash decisions he habitually makes when he's under stress," said Avery. "If something happens to System, millions of corporations using our software will be affected. Depending on what happens, that's potentially billions -possibly trillions- in losses and lawsuits."

"I ," I said. "That's a big responsibility. I'm a new employee and all-"

"I know you've been playing around with System," said Avery. "Adding codes and streamlining existing codes. In just two weeks, you already automated your entire job function."

"With your approval," I said, carefully.

"You also coded a auto-hack into your computer because the IT office keep changing your login credentials."

"Sorry," I said.

"Don't be," said Avery. "All I'm trying to say is, you're the only one who can help me right now. I need you, Jason."

I squeezed my eyes shut. This wasn't something I should get myself involved with. There was going to be a price to pay, but how many "slugs" can boast of job in a world-wide organization, right under a golden-eyed man who inherited one of the most powerful corporations in the country?

Besides, wasn't this what I wanted since graduation? To wash myself of the bloodstained, piss-filled slums and work in a modernized, well-lit world of desks and machines? Computer languages came easily to me and despite my limited access to System, I grasped how all the syntaxes and commands played into each other.

I doubted I could rely on the protection of a man who could erase my existence with mere words, but I wanted to gamble for a chance to really live. "I'll take a look at System's codes."

"Rosie already set up a private workspace for you," said Avery. My eyes narrowed slightly _,_ but Avery's smile was happy and innocent. Pulling an SD card out of his jacket pocket, Avery Vaughan told me, "My men also paid Landon Sagan your price of freedom. Do with this last copy what you will."

To be a vessel, one had to outfight and kill an existing vessel. The crime had to be recorded and handed over. The price of freedom was what you had to pay before the evidence was returned and you could walk away from the syndicate. The contents of the black chip Avery held in his hand was enough to send me to an electric chair.

When I reached for the SD card, Avery grabbed my hand, pressed the card into my palm and leaned into me. The interior of the car was dark and his golden eyes appeared luminous, like stars beckoning in the sky. His skin looked bone-white against my own, a shade paler than the Avery in my imagination last night and nowhere as warm.

Avery said, "I would've given this to you even if you didn't agree to help me. I would've never forced you."

"But you know I don’t have a choice."

I closed my fingers around his hand. An impulsive gesture that placed a look of surprise on Avery's face. Avery's gaze darted to his ring and I knew he wanted to toy with the silver band again. When Avery didn't resist, I ran the pad of my thumb against the engraving, "What does this ring mean to you?"

After a few seconds, Avery pulled his hand free and turned away from me. "I wear this to remind myself not to make the same mistakes again."

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Rosie greeted me at the company's entrance and took me to the private workspace, an office accessible through the executive suite. Gesturing at the eight monitors and dozens of system units, Rosie introduced, "The senior Mr. Vaughan used to work from here. Mr. Vaughan doesn't know code, so this office had been out of use for several years. I cleaned up the space, upgraded the technology and reconnected these devices to System."

Quickly, I typed in the passwords and allowed the machines to scan and register my retina, fingerprint and face. Once I was in System, I skimmed Rosie's setup and commented, "Your skills with code is remarkable. Why are you a receptionist?"

"I have a photographic memory and Mr. Vaughan wants me to keep an eye on everybody who enters and leave the building," said Rosie. She winked at me. "Forgive me for lying about being unable to activate your employee ID on the first day."

"Sure," I said.

Engrossed by the codes of System, I didn't look away from the monitors until almost eight hours later, when the sun was on the horizon and Rosie came in with teas, snacks and a tabloid that the café gave her for purchases over ten dollars. Unsurprisingly, my brother's face was the biggest thing on the front page.

I went straight for the food and Rosie lovingly picked up the tabloid.

"I saved up for almost a year to buy a ticket to LANCE's upcoming concert," said Rosie. She hugged the tabloid to her chest and sighed. "But the tickets never even went on sale because they were all pre-ordered and fans needed to pre-book a chance to pre-order."

"Seriously? People these days."

With a mouthful of scone, I reached for the tabloid and Rosie released the glossy print with another sad sigh. In large, bolded block print, the headline " _Is She THE ANGEL?_ " lead to an article about another A-list celebrity that Lance was seen eating dinner with. As my eyes glazed over all the speculations, gossip and photos, Rosie said, "A TV show asked him why does he still love a girl from more than ten years ago and he answered-"

"Because there's no cure for whatever the hell's wrong with him."

Avery, who'd entered the office without our notice, smiled when we looked over and pretended to knock on the door. There was a few thick binders in his arms, with pieces of yellowed paper sticking out in uneven angles. Avery's suit had several streaks of dust on them and his sweaty hair looked hastily pushed out of his eyes.  

"Mr. Vaughan!" Rosie turned around and grinned at Avery. "Are you also a fan of LANCE?"

Avery gave her a one shouldered shrug, then placed the binders on my desk. With a wince on his face, Avery massaged his arms, brushed the dust off his suit and told me, "Sorry, I meant to stop by earlier, but my meeting ended late. I finally found the schematics for an old version of System's Guard. I figured you and Rosie can use them for inspiration."

"Thanks," I said. "From what I gather so far, Adrian's security codes are impregnable, but there's a backdoor. Someone can potentially shut System down in four minutes should they have all the correct access codes."

"Go on."

"Technically, knowledge of the access codes should be evenly split between you, your brother and your father," I continued. "But Adrian made several updates to the system and he could've only made those updates if he had all the access codes."

"I see," said Avery, sounding pleased. One of the machines dinged as Avery spoke and an email icon popped up. Avery locked eyes with me, and spoke in a tone that reminisce two friends sharing a familiar inside joke."As soon as you can, add another layer of security and close that backdoor. That email contains the instructions."

Opening his email, I said, "You already knew. And you do know code."

"Only the general functions," said Avery, and the sensations of unbalance and unease seized my chest again. I forced everything down and refocused my attention on Avery's email. While reaching for a tea, Avery caught sight of the tabloid on my desk. "Is this what you guys were so excited about?"

"Um," said Rosie.

"I wasn't excited," I said at the exact same time.

The wry smile dancing on Avery's lips turned into a quiet laugh as he skimmed through the article. Shaking his head, Avery took a sip of tea, frowned at the taste, glanced at the label on the cup and tapped a finger against the _"Is She THE ANGEL?"_ headline. "I doubt it."

"But she once went to school with him, she has beautiful eyes and-" Rosie stopped. "Sorry, Mr. Vaughan."

"Since LANCE is in the area for his upcoming concert, the White family invited him to their anniversary gala," said Avery. "If you have time next weekend, I can request a invitation for you."

"No way!" said Rosie. "No way, Mr. Vaughan. Me? At the White family's anniversary gala? With LANCE?"

"You. At the White family's anniversary gala. With Lance," said Avery. "Please don't tell anyone about this office."

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Come to the gala," said Avery. Sensing my hesitation, Avery added, "When was the last time you saw your brother?"

"You know that Lance is my brother?"

Receiving no reply, I looked over at Avery, who finally broke the unusual silence by stating, "I already got invitations for you and Rosie."

The pearly lights and luxurious design of Avery's personal elevator would've overwhelmed me two weeks ago, but the bars for what could surprise or impress me was rapidly rising. Avery Smith might've been terrible at calculus and cried in my arms when he couldn't remember the structure of an animal cell, but Avery Vaughan…

 _Avery_ _Vaughan_ …

"Miss Whittaker informed me of a family emergency earlier," said Avery, once the elevator reached the ground floor. There was a jangle. I glanced, back and forth,  from the car key dangling from Avery's fingers to what appeared to be the beginning of a pout on Avery's face. "Jason, I can't drive."

Lifting an eyebrow, I asked him, "Would I get another raise for being your new chauffeur?"

With a completely serious expression on his face , Avery said, "That can be arranged."

"I was teasing you," I said.

Once in Avery's private parking lot, the doors to a fancy two-seater opened, upward, when Avery waved the car key and he dramatically gesture for me to step into the driver's seat. With a playful smirk, Avery said, "I don't blame you for not liking your new assignment, Mr. Summer. You won't be able to automate this part of your job just yet."

I clicked my tongue and made a dismissive sound. The car, like all the other cars in the parking lot, was designed to turn heads and the machine purred with pure, quiet power when I started the engine. As I played around with the car, I wondered why Avery owned so many expensive cars but couldn't drive.

After Avery fastened his seatbelt, I asked, "Where to, Mr. CEO?"

"Fashion Boulevard," said Avery. "My new chauffeur can't attend in a suit that went out of style seven months ago."

Pulling out of the parking lot, I smiled, rolled my eyes and turned my attention to the road, "Whatever, Avery."


End file.
